Hiraeth
by thecrone
Summary: "The Lord always brings back the people who must serve a purpose."
1. Chapter 1

Hiraeth

Daenerys I

"He did this for his sister and the Throne", is her last conscious thought, as she looks in his eyes. She tries to reach for the dagger, to pull it out, but her limbs are too heavy, and the pain is too great.

Then there's nothing. No pain, no sound, no thought. Nothing.

She's standing on a sandy beach, with water so clear she can see that the ocean floor is covered in shells and brightly colored stones. She quickly looks down at her chest, where a dagger should be, only to see that it's not. Odder still is the fact that she's naked and there's no wound marking her breast, as there should be. She glances around her, but no one, man or beast, can be seen. Truly alone.

She starts walking along the shore, her feet in the water. The water is neither cold or warm, and it takes only a few steps to realize that she can not feel the wetness of the water. She crouches down to scoop a handful up, and even though it rests in her palm, she still can not feel the wetness. Straightening back up, she realizes that there is no breeze, which is peculiar, as there is a slight ebb and swell in the water. The sun is brighter and bigger than she remembers, without a cloud in the sky to obscure it, however briefly. Despite the glare and brightness, she doesn't feel the warmth.

"So, this is the after life," she says out loud, wanting to hear something, even if it's only her own voice.

"This is the in-between," a female voice responds from behind her. Turning around, Daenerys sees a beautiful woman with blood red hair and robes.

"R'hllor has sent you here because He has deemed you worthy enough to choose your fate, an option only given to few. You were chosen to lead the world into greatness, usher in a new era, but your path was cut short, betrayed by the man you love. You did great things, but terrible ones, as well. However, the bad does not always outweigh the good, and your purpose has not been served. Will you go back to the land of the living? Will you resume your destiny and herald in a new age, like the Targaryens of old promised to do? Or will you continue your walk into the shadow, where you will find the ones you have lost?"

"Go back to what? The place where I will be seen as the Mad Queen, where people will fear and despise me, where I shall have no moment of peace? I have nothing waiting for me there, only fear and hate. If I continue walking, I will be reunited with the people who love me. But most importantly, Rhaego is there. I have never held my son. My arms ache to hold him, my nose craves the scent of his hair, my lips hunger to place a kiss in his brow. I have been a mother with no human child for more than six years. Tell your God I appreciate the offer to go back, but I rather see the ones I've lost and hold my son."

"If you go to Rhaego now, then you will never meet him," the priestess responds, nodding towards Daenerys's abdomen. "A witch once told you that you could never have children, she lied. The same witch also said that death paid for life, she told the truth. Many deaths have paid for many lives, however small that consolation may be to others. Such is the way of life, as it has always been and always will be. Bluntly, my dear, the deaths in King's Landing have paid for the births in Valyria. And the dragons there will need a mother."

Daenerys looked at her in disbelief, hand resting at her naked belly.

"Are you sure that this child will live?" She asks, with tears in her eyes.

"He will live, as will the others. There are three heads to the dragon, are there not?"

She had thought herself barren for so long that the very idea of having a child, and maybe more, is overwhelming in itself. Thoughts whirl within her head, too many for her to be able to latch on any single one and really think clearly. Her heart feels light and heavy all at once. She feels tears fall down her cheeks, and wipes them away with the back of her hand. She has to control her emotions. She has to weigh her options. Yes, she wants this child, so much more than she had ever even wanted the Throne in that forsaken land she'd been born on, but she has to be cautious. Nothing comes free. Nothing.

"I have never been given anything without a price. In return for this child, and the promise of other living children, what must I do?"

"This child is your gift, for all the good that you have done. As for the others, their births depend on your choices. The future is more sand than stone, and even stone can crumble. I have seen the possibilities, but it all depends on the choices you make, the paths you follow. I can offer help and guidance as the Lord deems, but I am afraid that is all. I have seen your son live a long and healthy life, o-", but Daenerys cut her off.

"Will he be happy? Will I be a good mother to him? Will the world hate him as they hate his mother? Will he succumb to madness like his ancestors?"

"Those are all questions that you yourself have the ability to answer. Will you love him fiercely and protect him as only a mother can? Will you teach him to treat those beneath him with kindness and respect? Will you show him that we are all capable of mistakes, but we are also capable of learning from those mistakes? Our time grows short, and you must give me your answer."

"You mentioned help and guidance," Daenerys says, determination in her voice.

The red-haired woman smiles kindly and nods. "You will awaken from Drogon's fire, as he was born from yours. Send for your old friend in Essos. He has amassed quite a large army and still leads under your banner. Greyworm and Yara are loyal and true. Seek their council. Make your home in Valyria, for all is not as it seems there, as Drogon well knows. Dragons are children of the Light, children of our Lord. The Targaryens understood this for a time, but they lost the way when they set out for Westeros. Leave all thought of Westeros behind, for now."

"Your Lord knows me well. I will want vengeance against those who have betrayed and hurt me. Am I allowed this vengeance?" Daenerys could hear the urgency in her own voice.

" 'Fire and Blood', those are the words of your House. I only implore that you be more cautious than you once were. This is your chance to do what you wanted to do. Destroy injustice where and when you can, and guide the future rulers down the same path. That is the way it should have been done from the beginning."

"I will go back, and I will do as I should have from the beginning. As for the dragons to come?"

"Go back to Valyria, Queen Daenerys, for there they are awaiting your arrival." She stepped closer and touched Daenerys's temple. "Be good and wise. Use your gentle heart, but be the dragon when you must. Do not be hasty. The Lord always brings back the people who must serve a purpose." She kisses her gently on the forehead, and finally Daenerys can feel it- the water, the sun, the wind, the kiss.

The sensations only last a moment, and then everything fades to black.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon I

"Please forgive me," he wants to say, as the light leaves her eyes. He keeps his eyes open, though the tears are falling faster and faster. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword", that's what his father had said, and despite what Dany had done, she at least deserved that he look her in the eye, even if she'd already left this life.

He isn't sure how long he stares at her, probably no more than a minute, but the enormity of it all makes it feel like a lifetime. Her body, though slight, starts to feel wooden and heavy, and he slowly lowers her to the ground. She looks like a child laying amongst the ash and snow, and he morbidly wonders how many actual children are laying out there, just as she is.

Her blood is slowly trickling down her nose and mouth and he wants to wipe it away- the red looks too bright against her pale face-, but he can't bear to touch her again. He fears that even though it's been but a moment, her skin will be as cold as ice, and he wants so much to remember how warm her skin always felt.

He knows that her guards will be in soon, that maybe he can get away before they capture him, but he doesn't actually even entertain the idea of escape. He's done what he thinks is best and he will pay in whatever way her men deem he should. "Maybe Greyworm will be the one, or Drogon, or even Quoro," he thinks absentmindedly, staring at his Queen.

He hears Drogon climb into the broken room and moves out of the way quickly. The dragon moves slowly towards her, ignoring Jon completely. Once he gets to her, he nudges her slightly with his snout, as a child would rouse a sleeping parent. The sight tugs heavily at Jon, and he wishes that he could console the dragon. "Dany's last child," he murmurs softly, and a new wave of sadness consumes him. He wonders how things would have played out if she'd had all her children, and he wants to believe that the carnage of King's Landing would have been avoided had all three of them been living. He wants to believe that the massacre of the city had only been brought on by her grief and not the Targaryen madness.

Drogon is still nudging her, but harder now and her body finally turns to it's side. Her outer robes part slightly and a portion of her garments get caught beneath her causing the already form fitting underdress to stretch even tighter around her midsection, and that's when he notices the very slight swell of her abdomen.

Shock and grief course through him, and he starts to reach towards her, but Drogon's mighty roar surprise and stop him cold. The sight of her possible pregnancy had made him forget the presence of the dragon. However, Drogon had not forgotten him.

The dragon is slowly advancing towards him, growling and roaring. His eyes are dark and menacing, but Jon can see the despair in them as well, and he knows that his end is near. He briefly thinks that in a hundred years the bards will sing of how a Stark bastard killed the Dragon Queen and then was killed by her dragon. Jon looks towards Daenerys and hopes that in the afterlife he will find her and the child, maybe in the afterlife the three of them can be happy.

Drogon looks down at him, his mouth opening, fire already visible in his long throat. Jon closes his eyes and waits, but the flames never come. He hears and smells it though, the fire. He can hear Drogon's slight screeching, and as he opens his eyes, he's shocked to see Dany's body consumed by the flames.

Jon scans the room looking for him and sees Drogon crouched behind the Throne, watching his mother's body burn, but Jon gets the impression that he's waiting. What he's waiting for, Jon isn't sure, but the arrival of Greyworm and a dozen Unsullied and Dothraki startle Jon. As they rush towards their Queen, Drogon lets out a mighty roar, halting all of them. Only one man keeps walking towards her flame engulfed body, Jon notices.

"Hello, old friend," the man says to Drogon, the grief in his voice evident. "It's me, Daario. What has happened to Mhysa?" Jon watches, confused, as the man keeps walking closer and closer, despite Drogon's snarling.

Without warning, rain starts gushing down on them. There is no lightning or thunder, only a blinding amount of rain. Jon can hear Drogon's continued snarling and the confused exclaims of the soldiers, but the sudden downpour even manages to drown those sounds out. He's not sure wether it's the tears or rain that's causing his eyes to sting, but he eventually closes them and hangs his head, waiting for whatever is to happen next. He thinks of the storm that signaled her birth and wether this storm is here to herald her to whatever is beyond. He smiles sadly, "Whatever or whoever lays beyond should prepare for her arrival. She'll end up ruling them, as well."

And just as suddenly as it had started, the rain stops. The murmuring and snarling of soldiers and dragon can still be heard, but that also stops after a moment.

Jon keeps his eyes closed, refusing to look upon the charred and soggy remains of Dany, wanting to stretch the moment a little longer, but finally he opens them. Jon looks to the soldiers, prepared to be taken, but they are all kneeling, faces pointed downwards. He thinks they are grieving the death of their queen, his queen, in their own way. He watches them slowly get up to their feet, all of them whispering "Mhysa".

Remembering Ned Stark's words once more, he looks to where her body lays, steeling himself for whatever carnage is there, reminding himself that he's seen worse, but he is wholly unprepared for what he sees.

Daenerys is standing upon the spot where he had stabbed her only a short while before, naked. Her left hand is clutching the blade that had ended her life, and her right hand is resting on the slight swell of her belly. She looks a little dazed, as if she herself is unsure of what has happened. Drogon lets out a mighty roar before taking off into the skies, as if he is signaling to the world that his mother is still alive.

She takes a few steps forward, but stumbles a little, and Jon instinctively reaches towards her, but it is the unknown man who catches her first. He takes his cloak from his shoulders and wraps it around hers, while taking the blade from her hand. He's the first to notice the wound in her breast, and he looks at Jon, rage burning in his eyes.

"What have you done to the Queen?" He spits out, while cradling her against him.

"Queen trust Jon Snow. He protect her with his life," Greyworm says, coming quickly to Jon's defense. "Jon, who hurt our Queen?"

Jon feels shame at the earnest and trusting look Greyworm gives him. Greyworm, who loved Daenerys only second to Missandei, would never understand why he'd tried to kill the Queen. But before he can say anything, Daenerys speaks.

"He did this to me. Take him away, but make sure that he is guarded day and night, until I know what to do to him," she sounds out of breath, but when Jon looks at her face he can the tears that have left their mark on her cheeks.

Three soldiers quickly overtake him, for he has not put up a fight. He's too stunned to even feel the pain of them twisting his arms behind his back, but the movement of her drawing the cloak even tighter against her bring him back to his senses.

"How long have you known that you carry my child?" He asks more gruffly than he intended, but he needs to know before they take him, he needs to know that she wouldn't keep such information from him.

Her face softens for a moment as she answers, "I have only learned of his existence." Her face hardens again. "This will make for quite a bedtime story for him," she says harshly. The confirmation of her pregnancy leaves him shaken.

He watches as sobs wrack her small body and she curls into the man who had correctly accused him. He sees the disbelief and betrayed in Greyworm's eyes, as some nameless soldiers take him away to an unknown part of the castle.

And somewhere overhead, he can hear Drogon rejoicing in the rebirth of his mother.


	3. Chapter 3

Daario I

He stands in the harbor long after the ships are no longer visible, so lost in thought he barely hears the loud chatter around him. He has to stop himself time after time from getting onto a ship himself and going after her.

That night, long after the pyramid is silent, he feels a lone tear fall down his cheek. This is the first time in his life he can ever remember crying.

He only gets up the next day because he needs to prove to everyone, but most importantly himself, that she was right to trust him and leave him in charge. He sits on her throne and hates every second he is there. He hates meeting with the little people, not because they do not matter to him, but because he knows how much they matter to her and though he will never admit it out loud, the thought of letting them down, letting her down, terrifies him more than any fight he has ever been in. He's good with his fists, weapons, mind, and cock, but he's shit with his heart.

But day after day he does as she asked of him- he gets up and meets with the thirteen men and women she left in charge of her council and they discuss everything from gold and soldiers to centers of healing and learning. And after each council meeting he's left feeling a little better because he knows that she would be proud of him. He trains in the afternoons with his men, hacking away at wooden posts made to resemble men under the hot Essosi sun. In the evenings he spends his time writing letters- to the remaining Wise Master of Yunkai, to the Red Priests, to the newly appointed leader of the Ghis, and every single person in between, and once he is done with those, he writes her a letter. Sometimes he tells her of the all that he's accomplished, other times he tells her of his childhood and of his favorite cousin, Romi, still other times he just writes to tell her how much he loves her and of how much he misses her. He never sends the letters he writes her; he just keeps them in a dark wooden chest on top of the desk in his room. He also keeps a braided lock of her hair, that she'd given him almost impulsively the night that Drogon had left and she'd been forced to lock up Viserion and Rhaegal, and a simple gold bracelet adorned with a dozen rubies that he'd had made to give her on her next name-day.

He spends the hours that he should be asleep, pacing his room, scared for her safety. He doesn't trust the Imp or the man they call the Spider, but he feels relieved knowing that Missandei and Torgo are with her. There are some nights that he wants to hate her for leaving him behind the way she did, but he knows that she is meant for greater and better things than being the bedmate of a sellsword. He believes in her and her vision of a better world, and when all is quiet and there is no sound to drown out the tiny, nagging voice in his head, he believes that she will one day grow to love him back.

It is on a rare rainy day in Essos, two moons and twelve days after her departure, that he hears of her arrival to Dragonstone, her birthplace, the home of her ancestors. The letter is short and straight to the point- she's safe, there is much to do in order to prepare for her upcoming battles, please continue what you are doing in Meereen, signed Lord Varys. Despite Daario's happiness that she is okay and safe and one step closer to her Throne, he feels resentful that she is not the one to write to him, but sitting there in the Council Room, deep within the Great Pyramid, with the watchful eyes of the Gracious Thirteen upon him, he only smiles and says kind words.

"That's right, dear, a little less teeth," Daario says, breathlessly, as he watches the first girl he's paid to bed in years suck his dick, artlessly. He'd gone to the best brothel that night and chosen the girl with darkest hair. He wanted no reminders of his Queen. The brothel owner argues with him that she is too new and maybe one of the seasoned whores will be more to Daario's taste, if it please the Lord Regent of Meereen as he is now called, but Daario is taken with her dark eyes and hair, and insists that she be the one. She's also the first woman after Daenerys.

Despite the length of time that's passed since he last bedded his Queen, his orgasm is dull and lackluster. As if the girl senses his displeasure, she offers him another go at no cost to him, "This time will be better, my Lord", she says. He gently kisses her forehead and walks out. This had been a mistake and even though he knows that she could be with another man right now, he still misses her so much that he swears he can feel his heart clench painfully.

A week after hearing from Varys about his Queen, he is sitting in a room that he's designated as his study when a servant runs in, breathless.

"Lord Regent! Eggs! There are eggs!" And Daario's heart skips a beat. He follows the servant deep within the pyramid, down into the room where she'd locked away her children. Nestled against dry, old grass are six eggs. He touches each of them gently, caressing them reverently. He has them taken up to his study, but remains within the dungeon of sorts and scours every inch in case they've missed some; that nagging voice remains and whispers to him that she's going to be so pleased with him when she hears that he's found more of her children.

Back in his study, he stares intently at them. He's nothing special, he knows that. But he can't help but think how much happier Daenerys would be if he'd be able to hatch them for her. She'd be unstoppable with a fleet of dragons at her back, and the thought of her becoming Empress of the known world instantly brings a smile to his lips. He's on his feet a brief moment later, calling to whatever guard or servant or maid is out in the hall to bring that Red Priestess.

"Incredible beauties, aren't they?" She murmurs gently, once she's been found and brought in to see them. "Our Queen will be quite pleased once she learns of their existence. I wonder if the black one laid some when he took to the winds." Kinvara looks at him expectantly, but when he shrugs his shoulders, she resumes speaking. "We must keep these a secret, for now. Our Queen will have need of these and I fear that those who are not loyal to her will try to take these for themselves. For now, we will keep them in a fire. And there they will remain until their mother comes back to them."

Two more moons pass before he hears anymore news from his Queen. But the news he hears is troubling. She's lost a dragon, Ser Jorah is dead, and her army consists of some 12,000 Dothraki and 1,300 Unsullied. That's all. There is also talk that Varys, the Spider, is looking for another ruler for the Throne. He hears all this from a Westerosi who drunkenly aired his grievances about the Dragon Queen in the tavern Daario likes to frequent. Upon further, and more violent urging, Daario learns that she's fought in a battle against an army of dead men and that she must still face some usurper queen. Daario feels anger, a true rage that he's never felt before, but he's a man of action, so instead of drinking his anger away he searches for Kinvara.

"I have seen her death in the flames, always dancing in the background, behind battles and glory," Kinvara tells him once he's told her everything he knows. "I know of your loyalty and devotion to her. Wait until she sends for you, Daario, for she will. I have seen that more times than once."

"Fuck this waiting, fuck those flames and visions, fuck everyone and everything that will keep me away. She needs me, and I will go to her. She is stubborn and independent. I won't wait until she's lost everything to come back humbled to me! That would destroy her. You should know that. She is the last of her people, a proud people. Can your flames tell me where she is?"

Kinvara smiles kindly at him, "I'm glad to see how devoted you are. I will come with you. Leave the Gracious Thirteen in charge until your return. How many of your men can travel?"

They depart eleven days later with a mixture of Second Sons, Ghiscari warriors, and a portion of Mhysa's Army, altogether they total out to 14,000 men. The winds are in their favor, but their timing is not, as they reach Dragonstone no more than a couple of hours after she leaves. Upon hearing from some of the men that have been left behind that Rhaegal and Missandei are also dead, killed by the usurper queen and her lover, and Queen Daenerys gone to King's Landing to take back her throne, Daario orders the men back on the ships and they sail off towards King's Landing, leaving only one hundred men from his army behind to guard his Queen's home.

The voyage is quite short, only three days, but the waiting is insufferable. Daario makes use of his time by acquainting himself with the terrain through the maps they thought to take. Kinvara also proves useful in her own way, praying and chanting, keeping the fire beneath the dragon eggs going at all times, and offering him her counsel. She talks of patience and calm, but all Daario can feel is fury and pain. He remembers sweet Missandei and her unwavering loyalty. He swears to all the gods in existence that her killers will know his wrath.

When they are approximately half a days journey away from King's Landing, they start to see what can only be smoke coming from the direction their heading. The faint roar of a dragon can be heard, and Daario can only pace nervously and urge the ships to sail faster in his mind. A swift breeze picks up, and as if by magic, the ships are swept forward at an alarming speed. Once the shore is visible, Daario's plan of attack changes. The entirety of the city looks as if it has been razed to the ground. Fire and smoke spiral upwards in columns. However, neither Daenerys or Drogon are visible. Daario's worry reaches new heights. He'll kill every last person in this forsaken land if either her or her last child have been harmed.

His new orders move quickly through the ships- only the most skilled men are to get on the longboats and row to shore, leave the horses behind for now, and protect the Red Priestess at all costs. When Daario goes to say goodbye to her before boarding a longboat himself, he finds her in a trance. "Thank you," he murmurs softly, instinctively knowing that whatever she is doing is protecting his Queen.

The moment he steps on shore, it's as if he is in a dreamlike state. He walks without actually registering what he sees. He knows there are bodies and blood and fire, but he only pushes his men onwards. He sees Unsullied soldiers and rushes up to one, "Where is the Queen? Is she okay?" He asks, urgently. The Unsullied look at him with distrust, but they quickly realize he is wearing the Queen's colors and that a three headed dragon sigil adorns his chest. They point him towards what they call the Red Keep, and he hurries towards it, ordering his men to help the Unsullied and Dothraki in whatever way they need.

"Torgo," he yells once he sees the soldier. They clasp arms roughly, each glad to see the other. "Is she okay?"

"Naharis, Queen is okay. She has won great battles and Westeros under her rule now. But the Imp and the Spider betray her. She burn Spider and Imp in chains now," he tells him without preamble.

"I heard that she lost Rhaegal and Viserys. I also heard about Missandei. I am so sorry, my friend. I know you loved her very much."

"Torgo not scared anymore," he replies simply, and Daario simply nods, understanding immediately what the other man means.

Suddenly, an earth shattering screech can be heard, and the twin men watch as flames erupt out of the already smoldering castle. They both know immediately that something is wrong. Torgo yells orders and a dozen men follow Daario and Torgo into the castle.

The sight that greets him in the Throne room almost kills him. Days later he doesn't even clearly remember everything; all that stands out is when he finally holds her in his arms again, cradling her small, ash covered frame against him, sobs wracking her body.

"We take Queen to safe place. Naharis, you stay with Queen. We send for healer, make sure she okay."

"Torgo, I brought Kinvara with me. She is on the ships with the rest of the men I brought. Have them come to shore and set them any tasks that need to be done. We must secure the city. Have Kinvara come up to meet the Queen. I swear to you that I will keep her safe."

Torgo nods, and instructs his men to carry out those orders. Eventually, Daario, still holding his Queen, is led to a bedchamber that has been prepared for them and is virtually unscathed from the fire and battle. He lays her gently on the bed as a few of her maids scurry about, preparing a bath, food, fire, and anything that might provide her comfort.

He looks down at her, still clutching her hand. Her eyes are bloodshot and she's so pale that he worries that she might still be at death's door, but her pulse is strong and Daenerys Targaryen is stronger. If he believes in anything at all, it is her strength.

"Daario, you've come back after I ordered you to stay away," she says, weakly, reaching her hand up to touch his cheek.

"Fuck your order. I will never leave your side again, do you understand? Only death can keep me away," he responds fiercely, leaning in to her touch. He is finally home.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon ll

Jon is used to being looked at with hate. He'd been haphazardly raised by Lady Stark as the bastard of Ned Stark, after-all. So, the dirty looks he gets from the Dothraki, Unsullied, and kitchen maids is nothing new to him. Besides, he's too lost in his thoughts to register much of what's happening within his cell.

He spends his days looking out the minuscule window, staring at the courtyard and city below. Fires rage on for days, but eventually it fizzles out, leaving behind dwindling smoke and even more ash. The skies remain a dull grey for weeks, as though even the Gods are saddened by all that's taken place. Delegations from different Houses appear, many of them bringing gifts from what he can see. How long they stay, he isn't sure, though what he is sure of is that none of them bring militia. And who can blame them, he thinks. Only a fool would think to bring an army here after the terror that she's brought upon the city.

It's a bittersweet irony that the day the sun finally returns is the day he first sees her walking across the courtyard, flanked on either side by soldiers. Drogon comes swooping down from the clear blue sky, landing before her, and flapping his wings, as though impatient. Jon strains hard to see if she's increased much, his heart pounding thunderously in his chest, but he's too high up in the Keep. He watches her climb atop the gigantic beast and take to the sky; he can't help but mutter a prayer that she and the babe stay safe, that there is still a babe growing within her, that the same God who had risen them both from death had seen fit to do the same with their child.

And, once more, he's filled with grief and guilt and self loathing.

He'd never wanted to father children. Never had he wanted to bring shame upon a child by not being able to provide them with a family name. Never had he wanted a child of his flesh to receive the same looks of anger and hatred that he'd so often seen whenever people looked at him. And, as he's being honest with himself, never had he wanted to look upon a face so like his own with pain and pity as Ned Stark had looked at him. Going into the Night's Watch had been the solution to so much, he thinks. But that had also proved to be the undoing of so much, as well.

He wonders how things would be now if he would have stayed back at Winterfell while his adoptive father went to the capitol. He wonders further back- what if his mother would have lived? would they have been smuggled into exile along with Dany and her cruel brother? would the Starks have found a way to bring them back without King Robert's wrath?

And then his thoughts drift back to the Starks. He can taste the bitterness on his tongue when he thinks of Sansa's betrayal. She was Ned Stark's trueborn daughter, but she shared none of his loyalty or honor. Cersei would be pleased with the child she'd fostered, he thinks, meanly. He thinks of Bran and wonders how much Bran had foreseen, why Bran hadn't uttered a single word to prevent all the destruction and death. He thinks of Arya, his baby sister, consumed with revenge, and prays that she got out, that she is safe.

But, as always, his thoughts eventually drift back to the babe. Dany's babe. His babe. Tears sting his eyes as he thinks of how he'd committed such a treasonous act, a cowardly act. He had killed the woman he loved and their child in a moment of panic. He'd acted rashly. He'd-

Suddenly, the door to his room is thrown open and Greyworm marches in.

"Stand and hold your arms in front," Greyworm commands, steel in his voice. Jon does as he is told. This is the first time he's seen anyone from Dany's personal guard since the day in the Throne Room. Greyworm speaks in his native tongue and other guards come in. With Greyworm leading the way, they march him through the keep, weapons drawn. Jon can feel his heart beat faster and harder with each step. He wonders if she will be there for the execution or if she left because she knew he would die today.

Surprisingly, they lead him outside and through the gardens. Or what remains of it. There's a chill in the air, he hadn't noticed before, and he shivers against his will. Dead leaves and flowers litter the ground, and he can feel the slight crunch of their frailness under his worn boots. He realizes that the stench of death and fire has gone at the same time that his procession reaches a small grove of what smells like lemon trees.

The guards in front of him move, and he sees her sitting on a chair, looking far more beautiful and radiant than he'd ever seen anyone look before. His eyes drop to her midsection, where her arm curves protectively around her rounded abdomen, and he lets out a sigh of relief. The babe is alive.

The man from before, the one who had cradled her like a child is standing behind her, watching Jon with distrust.

"Leave us," he hears her command, and all, but Greyworm and the man, do. "Daario, tie him to the post. Then you and Torgo Nudho may leave."

The man, Daario, does as he is told, but whispers menacingly in Jon's ear, "You will be dead on the ground before you are even able to touch her." Then he smiles and pats Jon on the cheek.

"Brave words to a chained prisoner," Jon spits out. Daario only raises his brow sardonically, before turning his back on Jon, bowing to Dany, and leaving.

"Queen, we remain close," Jon hears Greyworm say, before he too leaves.

It's a second or an hour before she stands, stretching her back slightly, and Jon is afforded a better view of her form. She's clothed in a fitted red gown that only accentuates her rounded stomach and a black fur coat is wrapped about her shoulders. On her silver head is an ornate golden crown, rubies running all around. She's stunning and regal, and Jon feels once more like the Bastard of Winterfell, wearing his dirty, torn, and blood stained clothes, with hair far longer than he can remember it ever being before.

"I thought you had left the city. I saw you leave on Drogon's back this morning," his voice is hoarse from disuse.

"Your days have run together. I left six days ago and returned yesterday." There is no emotion in her voice, and he feels slightly taken aback. He expected rage, not this cool detachedness. "I have had you brought here to inform you of your sentence. You are charged with regicide. You have been found guilty. Your sentence is such- You will return to Winterfell and live out your days with your family. I am stripping you of your Targaryen name. You have no claim to Dragonstone or any properties and titles pertaining to the Targaryen family. You will remain Jon Snow of Winterfell from this day to the last of your days."

He's shocked, bewildered. He'd expected death, been sure that it was his time. He stared at her, not understanding how he'd managed to avoid it once again.

"Your sisters are awaiting you outside of the city walls. I will have you escorted to them. No harm shall be done to you, them, or their guard. In return, you and your family will part from my sight and never will you enter into it again. Understood?"

"What of the child?"

"What of my child, Lord Snow?"

"That is not only your child. The child is as much mine as yours. He or she needs-"

"This child, my child," she cuts him off, fire in her eyes and passion in her voice, "will be brought up on Valyria, our rightful home. He will want for nothing."

"He will want a father!" Jon shouts.

"And a father he shall have. Daario will be his father in all but blood," she responds, coldly.

"You dare-"

"I dare it all, Jon Snow," she interrupts, walking up to him, staring him straight in the eye. "There was a time I placed all my faith upon you, but you have betrayed me in the worst possible way. If my child would not have survived the blow you dealt, I would have burned your sisters, brother, and Winterfell to the ground before your very eyes. I would have burned that frozen wasteland you call the North. And then I would have burned you, as well. But he lived, and for his sake, I will allow you your life, as well."

"Dany, please, I beg you. I would get on my knees if I could. Please do not take my child from me, do not allow another man to raise the only child I shall ever father. I beg you," he pleads, tears running down his cheek. He stares at her, sees the uncertainty in her eyes, but it's gone in an instant.

"I begged you once. I humbled myself before you. My begging did no good then, and your begging does no good now," she says softly, kindly even. "I swear to you that I will raise him to be an honorable man. He will be good and just." She raises her hand and briefly trails her fingers against his cheek. "I loved you once, more than I had even loved Drogo, and he would have burned the world if it pleased me. I know that you did what you thought was right. I know that what I did here was horrible, that it makes me even worse than my father. I am so deeply sorry, and I swear that I will do everything within my power to right what I can. I offer no excuses; I have none." She takes a deep breath and a step away from him before continuing. "I will never feel safe around you, Jon. Just as the people of Westeros will never feel safe around me. Aegon conquered this foreign land long ago, and now, I am setting it free. Each kingdom will regain it's autonomy and govern their lands, as they see fit. Most were bewildered, but Sansa was pleased."

He's rendered speechless by her words. Never had he expected her retreat, especially after her victory. Before he can respond, she closes the distance between them and firmly, but briefly, kisses his lips.

"I gave you everything I could, Jon. Everything. I must keep what little remains to give to our child now," she tells him, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I will be a good mother. I swear it."

"Dany, please," he tells her, but she's already walking away.

He feels his legs give way under him, but whatever Daario had used to tie him to the stone post prevents him from sinking to his knees. The sorrow that consumes him is more than any other pain he's ever experienced. He grieves for a child he will never know, a woman he will never hold again, a future that will never be.


	5. Chapter 5

Tyrion I

His earliest memory from childhood, that he remembers so clearly- the scents, the sounds-, is when he is merely 4 years old. He had somehow gotten away from his Septa and had found himself in a distant part of his home. He had fallen down a couple of steps, for his legs were too short to actually take the steps, so he was bruised and bleeding. He'd wandered through halls, hiding amongst the shadows so no one would see him. After what felt like an eternity, he was finally outside. The sky was a glorious combination of purples, oranges, and blues, he could smell meat cooking, and he could hear what sounded like waves crashing against the rocks. He felt free, unencumbered by the horrified stares of the staff, the cold indifference of his father, the mean words of Cersei and the shy friendliness of Jaime. He'd breathed in so deeply, that he childishly thought that he'd be able to breath in the bright green grass if he inhaled strong enough.

"I knew I should have never trusted you. I should have killed you the moment you opened your treacherous fucking mouth." Too late does Tyrion realize that his solitude has been intruded upon and he comes crashing back to reality, away from the first day he'd tasted a little bit of freedom.

"Daario, is it?" His voice is scratchy and hoarse from disuse.

"Do not play games with me. You know who I am." Daario says, coldly, stepping closer to him. Tyrion remembers a jovial and handsome man, though battle worn. All the joviality is gone now.

"Have they designated you as the one who will do the deed?" Daario raises his eyebrow in question, hostility still present. Tyrion clarifies, "For betraying Queen Daenerys, I assume the penalty is death, and you are here to carry it out."

Daario chuckles slightly. "So eager to be done with it, I see. No such luck today, little man. No, I am here to take you to your trial. Now come. Queen Daenerys should not be kept waiting."

Tyrion looks shocked at his words. He'd spent what could only be three moons so sure that she was dead, killed by Jon Snow. The day he'd seen him, spoken to him last, he'd been so sure that Jon had done it. He'd not been given any meals for four days, living only off the stale water in the room that he'd been sequestered in, grateful for even that small sustenance. When a kitchen maid finally came in with some bread and broth, a Dothraki warrior had followed her in and stood waiting for her to finish laying Tyrion's meal on the ground. Driven by hunger, Tyrion had scrambled toward the tray, only to find a booted foot coming up swiftly and kicking him in the jaw. Tyrion had let out a cry and fallen back, clutching his throbbing jaw, which was quickly starting to bleed. His 'visitors' had left shortly after that. Over the following days he'd been listening intently at the door, trying to find out what had happened. On the tenth day, luck was with him. A group of soldiers had walked by, speaking in the Common Tongue, and Tyrion had heard quite distinctly, "- a dagger right in her chest, I heard. Caught him stan-". He'd been so sure what that meant, so sure that someone had found Jon standing over her corpse.

Daario's voice brings him back. "It's a shock to you. You thought you'd gotten rid of your problem, but you've only succeeded in making it worse."

After being shackled, Tyrion is led back to the Throne Room. The destruction he sees on the way there is worse than he'd remembered, though the stench of death is now gone. He does notice that everything of value has been stripped away, and he tucks that nugget of information away, sensing it's importance. He walks past various blown out walls, each time glimpsing the destroyed city below.

The closer they get to the Throne Room, the more activity is present- maids scurry about with various items, Unsullied line the walls, Dothraki warriors can be seen in the courtyard below, and another set of soldiers, perhaps the Second Sons, seem to be guarding different hallways and doors; Tyrion briefly thinks that maybe her rule is not quite secure. Finally, he recognizes the steps that lead up to the doorway of the throne room and his heart beats faster than a hummingbird's wings.

Tyrion glances briefly once more towards Daario before straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders. He will face whatever penalty is placed upon his head with courage.

Author's Note:

I appreciate all the feedback from you guys! Tyrion is difficult to write because he's gone from such extreme ends and I will always carry a torch for S1-S5 Tyrion.

Someone asked if this was a Jon bashing fic- absolutely not. And as much as I hate the caricature they turned Sansa into, I don't think I'll be bashing her, either. More than anything, I want redemption for everyone here, not just Daenerys.

As for the pairing, I'm not really sure yet. I had such a clear ending, but with each new chapter, the image changes, slightly.

Thank you for your patience; the next update will be up within the next few days.


	6. Chapter 6

Daenerys ll

She hears Tyrion's sharp intake of breath before she can clearly see his face, though she imagines that it is mixed with shock and regret. She'd picked a gown that accentuated her burgeoning midsection and had made sure to remain standing as he was brought forth.

She only sits on her throne when Daario and Tyrion are standing at the foot of the steps leading up to it. She hears Drogon's wings rustle behind her and instinctively knows that he is feeling her tension. Nevertheless, she remains stoic.

With a nod of her head, she dismisses Daario to the back of the room, where he stands at the ready. In another life, she would hate having a constant guard, but now she knows that everyone she has ever trusted could potentially turn on her, so she is thankful for Daario and Drogon's constant vigilance.

"If I had know-"Tyrion starts, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

"If you had known, you would have sent some other man to wield the dagger, not the man who fathered my child," she says after a brief moment of silence.

"Everything would have been diffe-"but once more she silences him with an upturned hand.

"No, you do not get to stand before me and try to placate me with how you would have done things differently had you known. What could have been makes no difference now. You should know that better than anyone."

He hangs his head slightly at her words. "Aye, you are right. The past cannot be altered, but please allow me to speak."

"You shall have your turn." She stands once more and walks towards the gaping hole in the wall as Drogon creeps a little closer. "I did this. I brought this chaos and destruction. Children lay dead in the streets, their bodies smoldering. Even after the city surrendered, I chose to destroy it all. I used to ask myself why the gods made kings and queens if not to protect the ones who couldn't protect themselves. Viserys was my king and nothing delighted him more than to see me frightened and in pain. Then he died and I was truly alone, the last Targaryen, and I promised myself that I would be different. I would be a Targaryen who was kind, compassionate, just. How I have failed. The slaves I freed, the hope I planted in Essos, the villains I have killed matter not compared to the destruction I have brought here." She chokes back a sob that threatens to escape and continues. "That is why I have chosen to leave. The people of Westeros have had enough of Targaryen rule."

She hears his feet shuffle against the stone floor, his shackles dragging behind him. He finally reaches her side and looks down at the wreckage below.

"I finally have what I'd wanted for so long, but the price was too great," she places a hand on her belly. "I think of the mothers and fathers who watched their children burn and I know that were I in their place, I would not rest until the person responsible for their murder was dead. Perhaps if there was no child, I would allow them their justice."

"Cersei burned down the Sept of Baelor. Thousands of people died, her own child took his life because of it, and she took the throne for herself and ruled," Tyrion replies, as if to comfort or relieve her of her guilt.

Daenerys waves her hand, shooing away his words. "You are too kind," she responds wryly. Subconsciously, she rubs circles over her belly, picturing the child growing within. She wonders if he will favor her or Jon, feeling a pang of sadness. As loathe as she is to think it, she prays that her child have his father's dark eyes.

"Does Jon know of the babe?" Tyrion asks, and at her nod continues, "How long have you known?"

"A little over three moons. By my calculations, it happened on our voyage to Winterfell," she looks down at him; unshed tears glisten on her eyelashes. "Life was so full of hope then- we would defeat the Army of the Dead, overthrow Cersei, I would claim my throne, and Jon would rule with me as king." She gulps and looks back out. "The childish hopes of a grown woman who knows better."

"I think all of us were full of hope then," he says, kindly. "Though it's not my place, I think it best you leave Westeros, as well. For the safety of the babe, if nothing else." Daenerys knows that he has questions, for his has always had an inquisitive mind. She also knows that he will not admit his involvement until she acknowledges just how much she knows of it.

"He did what you bade," she finally says after a few moments of silence. She continues after he looks at her with terror in his eyes. "Greyworm told me that he went to see you. I concluded that you must have said something to him then. He drove his dagger into my heart as we kissed, after I offered him a chance to rule with me." She turns her back on him then and walks towards Drogon, caressing him gently once she reaches him. Her bond with him has grown the past few months, first from their shared grief over the loss of Viserion and Rhaegal and then due to the life growing within her. She could feel Drogon becoming gentler with her as the days passed, as though he too could sense that there was a precious child growing within his mother, a new brother for him.

After another moment with Drogon, she walked back to her throne and sat. Tyrion had anticipated her move and stood before the throne waiting for her.

"As you must be aware, I have had you brought before me to pass sentence for your betrayal and the role you played in regicide." She keeps her voice level, though she wants to shout, as all the emotions overwhelm her once more. She notices the way he keeps his shoulders squared and stands upright, though the fear is evident in his eyes. "You will return to Casterly Rock. I have spoken to the dignitaries of the Westerlands, and they have appointed Lord Marbrand of Ashemark as King. He has promised to allow you to live your days there peacefully. Of course, you can choose to start a new home elsewhere, but I will assume that Lord Marbrand will then take your family home for himself and his family."

"You would let me live?" He asks, looking at her as if she has sprouted another head.

"You will also be given the fifty-seven Lannister soldiers that remain. I have paid their wages for the upcoming year, so you need not concern yourself with that. After that period is over, it is your concern. You will find that much of your family's wealth is gone." Too stunned to speak, he only nods his head in understanding. "Know that I owe you no explanation nor am I asking for your advice. You showed me great loyalty and devotion once, and I only explain what has happened to honor the friendship we once shared. I have spoken to the Houses that answered my summons. I offered them all a choice- name a single ruler for Westeros or claim your independence as it once was before Aegon's conquest. The answer from each was the same- independence- and I granted it, upon certain conditions. First, the Citadel would continue to provide Maesters for all of Westeros, with each kingdom providing ten applicants annually. Second, you would be given back your home, free of punishment. Third, House Florent would provide the ruler for the Reach, not the Hightowers. There was a slight issue, but Drogon was quite effective, and there were no more problems going onward. Fourth, Gendry Baratheon is King of the Stormlands with Davos Seaworth as his Hand. Lastly, the kingdoms of the Reach and the Stormlands must take in and provide for all the people displaced by the Destruction of King's Landing. Additionally, I will retain Dragonstone and none may trespass it's shores. Their agreement to my terms was unanimous, and a pact was signed by all." She finished, slightly winded, and allowed Tyrion to process all that she had said.

"I must commend you on your ingenuity. You have honored Ser Jorah's memory by not giving his wife's family the power in the Reach and have secured loyalty with the Florents. You've also secured loyalty with the Stormlands through Gendry, provided homes for the survivors of King's Landing in kingdoms that are loyal to you, and split Westeros, so that the likeliness of all the kingdoms rising up to rebel against you is unlikely. You've acknowledged the importance of the Citadel, something I presume hasn't occurred since Jon Arryn, once again guaranteeing their loyalty, to a degree. Yes, you have made friends in convenient places. However, I do question how you were able to reach any agreement with the North, Vale, and Riverlands."

"Did you know that Edmure Tully was all but rotting in a dungeon, half forgotten, when my messengers found him? It did not take much convincing after my rescue of him, especially after I delivered his wife and son to him. It also helps that he is a man who thinks quite highly of himself. The thought of being King of the Isles and Riverlands was too tempting to pass up. The same can be said for Lord Robyn of the Vale. He may be cousin to the Starks, but his thirst for power is strong. As for the North; they never even responded to the summons. I sent them a copy of the treaty with all the signatures and indicated that they were free to choose a ruler amongst themselves. And of course I invited Lady Sansa to come collect her brother."

"What game are you playing?" He asks incredulously. Daenerys knows that of all that she has told him, this is the most unexpected. She debates answering him truthfully, but decides it will do no harm, and may prove to be to her advantage.

"I have stripped Jon Snow of his Targaryen name and any birthright he might have," she replies, steel in her voice. "He may be the son of Rhaegar but his claim was never better than mine. Rhaegar and his children were killed before your brother killed my father. My mother, Queen Rhaella named Viserys King of the Seven Kingdoms on Dragonstone after the Mad King's death. Viserys, in turn, named me his heir. Upon Viserys' death, I inherited the Throne, not Jon."

For once in his life, Tyrion is at a loss for words, and Daenerys can't help but feel a small surge of pride for having finally been the one to stump him. As she stares at him, it's almost as though she can see the wheels begin to turn in his head again, and she knows that it's time she sent him on his way.

"I have explained enough of my plans to you, Lord Lannister. Daario will escort you past the outer exterior of the city where your men and supplies await. I suggest you get yourself as far away from the city before nightfall."

"You grace," he begins, and they are both taken back to another time when she had truly been his Queen and he had honestly meant it. The moment is gone too soon, both knowing that things can never go back to the way they once were. "What will you do with the city, as it appears you have emptied it of both people and possessions?"

"I will burn it. My ancestors built King's Landing and the Red Keep, and as their last true descendant, I shall destroy it. Completely." With that, she stands and beckons Daario over. "Farewell, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion smiles sadly at her. "I am sorry, more than I can ever express. I hope you find the peace you seek."

She can feel that there is more he wants to say, just as there is more she wants to say, but neither are brave enough. And maybe they both wish that if they don't complete this goodbye they can have another chance to be braver another day.

Author's Note:

Thank you all for your thoughts and input. Sorry for the delay. I hope I did their relationship justice in this chapter. As far as who has the better claim, I always thought it would

Daenerys, as Viserys was named King after his father and brother's death, and Daenerys would logically be his heir, until he had children or unless he stripped her of her title. Again, thank you all so much!


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